When Gramps moved in, both Mom and Dad thought it might be a good idea for me to have a private place. I quickly agreed, and helped Dad finish off a small room in the upstairs of the shed. My computer is there, and that has pretty much everything I need; music, video, and internet access. I have some games on it, but I’d rather think about other stuff and make plans for things that I dream about. An old cork board, full of stick pins, holds various drawings of my thoughts.
“You’ve added some new stuff to your idea board since the last time I was here,” Jared notices.
“Yep. I don’t know where it comes from, but it sure is fun.”
I take a minute to check e-mail. There’s nothing there that can’t be deleted immediately. I check a web page that has information about the landing noting everything is on schedule. They’ve already begun slowing their orbit to begin re-entry.
I hear Jen’s scooter coming up the drive. Jared and I cross over to the open window as she comes to a stop in front of the house. The scooter looks pretty funny parked next to Henri’s bike. We watch Jen check out the bigger motorcycle as she takes a small cooler out of the scooter’s trunk.
“Wanna take her for a ride?” we faintly hear Henri ask from the porch.
“No thanks. I don’t think I’m ready for something that big,” Jen answers politely.
“Hey! Up here!” Jared shouts out the window. Jen waves in response and starts heading toward us.
“We’ll be right down,” I add. Jared eagerly heads for the stairs as I go to grab my binoculars and a flashlight off the shelf before following him out.
“Hi Ty,” Jen says as I come out the door. “You ready for tonight?”
“I see you are,” I nod towards the cooler. “What you got there?”
“Just a few cans of soda and some water is all. I thought we’d probably get thirsty out there sooner or later.”
“Good thinking. Thanks,” I commend her. “I checked the status of the landing and everything is on schedule, so we better get going.”
“I’ll get my scope out of the car,” Jared says, taking off at a trot across the parking area.
“Can I carry that for you?” I ask Jen, nodding at the cooler.
“Thanks,” she responds, glad to hand it over.
Jared is back with his telescope in a minute.
“Let’s go then,” I say. We head for the backyard and the trail that leads to The Hill.
“You kids have fun,” Henri says as we pass by.
We look over and wave. “And happy trails to you,” Jared calls back.
We round the corner of the house, crossing the sandy lawn which gives way to scrub brush. It’s almost a mile walk to The Hill. The trail is wide as we walk side by side with Jen in the middle. We talk about some things that happened at school that day, coming quickly to the tracks and the road that runs parallel to them on the other side.
After we cross the road, the path narrows as the brush thickens, forcing us into single file. Jared takes the lead as we walk up a small rise. In spite of the spring rains, dust is still able to rise up between the young shoots of grass as we silently make our way. As kids, we used to ride our bikes to The Hill, churning up the rocks and sand along the path. It has grown back a little since then, but the path is still obvious.
It was out at The Hill that I first started dreaming about space while watching the International Space Station fly over after sunset. We had set up a place to camp with a pretty nice fire pit and a small shelter. I still think it’s pretty cool. We’ve had a lot of fun out there.
The Hill sits on land bought by Jared’s grandfather, an air force veteran, when he retired from the service. In addition to the small airport, he set up a salvage business for aged aircraft which, in it’s day, had plenty of business selling parts. Trainloads of wrecks and partly disassembled craft would come in and then go out again as usable parts. The scrap would get recycled. There are still plenty of the old planes around, many of them stripped to various degrees.
It was about sixteen years ago - I remember because Dad told me it was around the time I was born - that the state of New Mexico told Jared’s father they would like to set up the experimental launch facility. They lengthened and strengthened the runway so heavier craft could land, and constructed the Maglev rail for testing some new, smaller single-stage-to-orbit spacecraft. When it became inactive, almost three years ago, Jared’s dad told him everything worked fine, but that the state could no longer afford to fund the project and wanted to privatize the operation. All they needed now were investors.
“We’re at the siding,” Jared calls back, coming to a halt.
“That’s good,” Jen says, stopping next to him. “I need a drink.” She looks back at me as I come up and set the cooler down. She quickly opens the top and removes one of the bottles of water. After a long drink, she offers the bottle around.
“We’re over half way. I think it’s about another quarter mile,” Jared informs us, taking the water bottle. He takes a drink and hands it back to her.
“These tracks look like they don’t get used much,” Jen observes, looking down the siding in the direction of the switch which connects them to the main line. With the sun sinking in the west, the shadows from the bushes make them appear to crowd around the siding more than they do.
“Nope, not much,” Jared comments. “The launch facility doesn’t get many shipments these days, but trains still come through daily on the main line.”
Jen stows her water bottle as Jared begins his approach to the gate in the security fence. A sign announces its warning in faded red letters;
Government Property - Keep Out!
Magnetic Levitation Experimental Launch Facility
Extreme Danger
I grin as I remember Kylie’s comment on our ride home from school earlier. “How long has Kylie called this place Elf City?” I ask.
“Mom taught her that when she was real little so she wouldn’t be afraid when they powered up the rail. The planes make a loud whoosh as they are pulled along. Mom would say it’s the elves going to work.” Jared’s voice is quiet as he recalls his mother.
“That must be a nice memory for her,” Jennifer says gently.
It’s a big gate to allow large freight cars through, but not tight enough to keep us out. We easily slide in between the two sections and continue our journey. Soon we come to the first of the boulders that tell us we’ve arrived.
The Hill is not a natural occurrence, just a pile of rocks, some concrete pieces, and dirt that was dumped here during the construction of the launch facility. It’s piled up maybe ten feet above the surrounding ground. The native scrub brush has grown up around it camouflaging the area even better. Weeds and grass pop up where they can. To the left, at the back of The Hill, are the largest boulders, some as big as four feet in diameter. They act as a barrier which the dirt was pushed up against as it was dumped. The concrete slabs, which Jared thinks were construction errors, had all been dumped on the right. On the far side, another trail leads to Jared’s house, but you can’t see it from here.
At the foot of this access path, if you know how to spot it, is the side path to the shelter. I’m really surprised one of us didn’t get killed or seriously hurt building it. Even though he was only twelve, Jared drove the old wrecker from the airplane salvage days out here so we could use the winch to arrange the concrete into a roughly square support structure. Then we found an unattached, eight foot section of wing in the salvage yard to drag out and set on top for a roof. It was funny watching Jared drive the old truck. Four years ago, he was barely big enough to reach the pedals, but he managed and only got in a little trouble when his dad found out.
“I’ll be right back,” Jared says, setting down his telescope case before disappearing down the path and into the shelter.
“I always thought that was pretty neat,” Jen comments as we watch him go. “You really can’t see it from anywhere but here. Did you guys plan it that way?”
�
��Not really,” I answer. “It just kind of ended up that way by the time we were done. We just kept putting more small stone and dirt on top of that wing, and pretty soon it just looked like the rest of The Hill.”
“Except for the doorway,” Jared adds, coming out with a couple of lawn chairs in his hand. “There’s one more of these in there Ty.”
“I see someone else was planning ahead, too,” Jen says, walking past Jared to poke her head through the shelter’s door. “There’s quite a bit of firewood in here.” She brings the third chair out and we follow Jared up to the fire pit.
“I thought it might get chilly a little later,” Jared proudly states, “so I brought the wood and chairs down with the truck after I got home from school.”
I set the cooler down. “I checked the final approach of the shiff before we left, and it’s definitely coming in from the south.” They set the chairs up around the fire pit looking out over the scrub at the runway about a half mile away. Then we sit down to recover from the walk out here.
From the top of The Hill we have a pretty good view. I look behind me. The sun is close to slipping behind the mountains to the west. The space plane will be coming in from the right so we’ll be able to spot it easily on approach.
Jared reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small radio. “I borrowed it from my dad. We should be able to hear the approach chatter.” He turns it on, tunes it in, and sets it on a rock that serves as a table. It’s mostly silent, except for the occasional position verification comments.
This landing is a pretty low-key event. There aren’t any people on board, just a simple auto-pilot landing and a ton of garbage from the space station. Other than the investors Jared’s dad is entertaining, the only spectators are some technicians to secure the shiff after landing. They will also be removing any useful instruments over the next few months, replacing them with fake faces for exhibition.
“Ten minutes until touchdown,” the radio says. Jared has his scope set up and is scanning the sky towards the south. I have my binoculars ready, as does Jen. We look at each other with subdued excitement but say nothing. The seconds pass slowly. A few sonic booms, like distant thunder, reach my ears. It’s coming.
Slowly enunciating every word, Jared says, “I think I’ve got it.”
Jen and I lift our binoculars, looking through them in the direction Jared’s scope is pointing. It takes a few seconds to zero in but, sure enough, there it is, dropping out of the sky at who knows how many hundreds of miles per hour.
The sun slips completely behind the hills now. The twilight is perfect as the shining shiff, still high enough to be in the remaining sunlight, glides down through the fading blue sky on its last final approach. Trails of compressed air roll off the tips of its swept-back wings. Looking like a water bird coming down to land on a pond, the wheels unfold and lock into position for touchdown. It seems graceful, if an eight and a half ton machine can be considered graceful. We listen as the radio marks the descent by altitude and distance remaining.
The landing lights are on as the space plane continues its approach. The sonic booms end as it slows to less than the speed of sound, replaced by the sound of rushing wind which grows louder as the image we are watching gets bigger and bigger. We are so near the runway, it appears to come quickly and directly towards us. I can watch without the binoculars now. If I hadn’t sat here numerous times to watch planes land, I might have run for cover out of fear, but tonight is pure excitement.
Jared looks up from his scope, the object in his lens probably too large to view. We see puffs of bluish-white smoke as the rear tires scratch the pavement, hearing the screech a half-second later. The big piece of man-made technology speeds down the runway in front of us. Passing behind the aircraft hangars, the sound quickly begins to fade. We look through our glasses again to see another puff of the bluish-white smoke appear from the front tires as they finally touch the runway, too. The second squeak of rubber on asphalt takes a little longer to reach our ears as the craft rolls away from us. Looking through the binoculars, we watch until the front wheels come to a dead stop, signaling the official end of the flight.
Jen is the first to say, “Wow,” quietly, almost reverently.
“Yeah,” follows Jared. All I can do is grin.
We each take turns recapping what we’ve just seen, and only after a few minutes do we think it would have been nice to bring a digital recorder along. Jared correctly states, “it wouldn’t be the same as being here,” to which Jen and I agree. The radio chatter is congratulations to the landing crew behind computer consoles hundreds of miles away. I reach over to turn it off.
We sit silently for a few more minutes, putting what we have seen permanently into our memories so we’ll be able to talk about it in the future. I don’t suppose many people ever get this close to a landing. The only reason we can is because we live here.
Jared is looking through his scope again. “They’ve got her turned around and they’re towing her back to the hangars now. Looks like quite a welcoming committee, too.” Then his tone changes. “I wonder what that’s about?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, lifting my binoculars once again. But I can quickly see.
Jen is also looking again. “Guards?” she exclaims. “With guns? This must be some real special garbage or something!”
“Or something,” Jared whispers curiously.
We look at each other. Suddenly, and ominously, I feel we are seeing things we probably aren’t supposed to be seeing. There is an uneasy look on Jen’s face, too. But I can tell from the look on his face that Jared’s curiosity is up.
“Ty?” he says slowly. I don’t want or need to encourage him. “Why don’t we go take a closer look.” It isn’t a query; it’s a request. A queasy sensation starts to well up in my stomach.
“What? No!” Jen exclaims, her voice rising like a siren piercing the silence that comes with nightfall.
“Shhhh,” I quickly hush her. “Sound carries down from here like a tidal wave.” I probably sound a little melodramatic, but I’m serious and she knows it.
“We could creep in along the old tracks,” Jared continues. “There’s brush on both sides. We could probably get pretty close.”
“Count me out,” Jen declares firmly, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea if…” I start to say but I can see Jared’s not listening. He’s already put his telescope away, and is grabbing the radio to hide them together in the shelter.
“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” he challenges us as he comes back to grab a couple of the chairs and Jen’s cooler to stow in the shelter too. “C’mon. This stuff will be safe here until we return. And I’m not planning on talking to anybody.”
“Ty?” Jen whispers, tugging on my shirt sleeve, “they have guns.” I can tell she is nervous but to be honest, my curiosity is up and I am beginning to feel a little bolder with Jared’s encouragement.
Finally, I give in. “Oh Jen. C’mon. We’re only going to look,” I say. Jared grins at having won the discussion.
“Fine!” she spits, “but if anything happens, you guys are in for it.”
She is right but that’s the least of my concerns as we start out, blindly following Jared’s lead. Behind him, she continues spewing warnings for a few minutes as we make our way through the brush towards the rail siding. I follow close behind them, my senses keen but feeling a little bit stupid at letting Jared talk us into this little expedition. But we have to go see. Don’t we?
Twilight is fading as night comes on. The moon has risen a little higher now, and we can see pretty good without having to use our flashlights. Jared walks forward at a leisurely pace, lightly tapping a stick he picked up at the start to let any nocturnal critters in our path know we are coming. His green t-shirt blends in pretty good with the scrub along the tracks. In contrast, Jen’s light-colored blouse is easy to see and follow.
The rarely used, rusty tracks are hidden bene
ath an overgrowth of weeds. Bits and pieces of dismantled planes have dropped off to hide in the weeds too, and now threaten to scratch us with their jagged, torn edges, their future sealed in this wasteland. What new life would they have attained if they had made it to the recycling plants? Some probably would have been remolded into the shiny new hyper-trains that have started to compete for long distance passenger business.
Unlike the aircraft industry, which is just beginning to convert to clean hydrogen so the old polluting jet engines can be discontinued, only a few of the old diesel locomotives are still in use. I recall the first time I saw a freight train. I was very young, maybe five, but the memory of the big, color-worn engine, noisily spewing its smelly smoke, sticks vividly in my mind. It seemed ugly and totally unwholesome compared to the solar/hydrogen beauties we are starting to see now. They whisper as they pass by, driven by huge electro-magnets and powered by miles of hydrogen producing solar generators suspended above their tracks. I’ve never taken a ride on one yet, but I’ve heard that in the right season, the fragrance of flowering bushes and wild flowers accompany the HTs on their routes.
Jared stops abruptly. We’ve come to the end of the brush which hides our approach to the hangars. From here to their end, the tracks progress slowly below grade to more easily accommodate the concrete ramps used by the heavy equipment that was needed to load the scrap metal into the freight cars. We form a small circle. Jen looks worried. Jared looks excited.
“We’re going to have to keep down from here. The embankment will hide us for the most part,” Jared quietly instructs. “Jen, you might want to stay back here. You’re pretty easy to see.”
She nods agreement. I think she is somewhat relieved to have a reason to stay behind.
Jared and I crouch as we begin to creep forward along the rising berm. I guess we still have about a hundred yards to go. The ramp at the end of the tracks will give us pretty good cover to view the taxiway on which they will bring the shiff around to the hangars. We get to a second switch where the siding divides so box cars can be side loaded. Jared stops, rising up to peek over the edge of the ground to survey the situation.
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